The Letter
by Dadgrid
Summary: What would you do if your child got a Hogwarts letter? Rated G, but may not interest younger readers.
1. Default Chapter Title

**The Letter**

Part One

by Dadgrid

"Time for bed, ladies." 

"Oh, Daddy, please, just a little more, we don't have school tomorrow, pleaassse, can we stay on, do some more..." 

The man smiled, shook his head, and reached around the girls on his lap to log off and shut the computer down. The glow faded. "If you don't get to bed now you'll both be cranky tomorrow. We won't have fun. Off you go, now."

The older girl protested. "But we didn't find out what's going to happen in the next book. We looked all over the Internet and I'm more confused. You said we'd find out." 

Her father said "I didn't say we'd find out, Amanda, what I said was we'd look at what others are saying. According to all this, and depending who you believe, then Dumbledore's going to die, the Weasley twins are going to die, Ron's going to die, Hermione's going to die, Draco Malfoy's going to die, and even a couple of people said Harry's going to die. _And_, we found out Voldemort is Harry's father, Hermione is Harry's sister, Dumbledore is Harry's uncle and Voldemort's brother!" The man pretended to run out of breath. 

"But Daddy!" the younger sister said. "That's silly! You can't have Harry Potter die! There's going to be seven books! She can't kill all those people! They can't kill Harry!!" They couldn't publish any more books!" 

Her father smiled a little: "Well, the book after that could be _Dobby and the Lost Hogwarts' Socks_ or something, how about that?" 

Two pairs of eyes rolled. "Daddy!!."

===============================

Father made a rich breakfast the next morning: his special porridge (toasted in butter before cooking), sausages, his own bread with his mother's marmalade, and orange juice he squeezed himself. Sarah, the eight-year-old, called it "Daddy's special breakfast." Both sisters thought it a treat, but Amanda ate quickly and went upstairs. When her father went up later, he found her sitting at the computer. "Daddy," she said, "Do you really have friends in America you talk to about Harry?" "

Sure I do," he answered, "A lot of them. One of them's a schoolteacher in Michigan, two are lawyers in California and Florida, and another one in Texas. All kinds of people love Harry. But let's not sit at the computer on a fine day like this. We'll use it tonight. Now go outside." 

"Dad, will you play Hogwarts with us after lunch? I'm going to be Professor BeBe and you and Sarah are my class. Will you?" 

"Okay. What's the class today?" "Potions!"

Sure enough, Amanda and Sarah's father was reading in the garden when a brisk voice called "Excuse me. Excuse me." When he looked up, a petite blonde figure (small for a girl who had just turned eleven) stood before him, dressed in a maroon robe with gold scrollwork down the front. Apparently some Hogwarts professors' robes resembled Queen Amidala Halloween costumes. 

"Class is about to start, Dadgrid. Please come so we can start. You can't be late." The girls' father wanted to read, but he remembered his promise and followed his teacher into the kitchen. Sarah was already there, standing over a bowl filled with a pungent mixture. Father's smile was gone. "Girls, that's all my cooking herbs! Those are expensive, and look at the dish soap! You must clean this up!" 

The girls' smiles were gone too, now. "Daddy, we just wanted to make a potion. We want to play with you, don't be angry." 

"You have to ask me for what you can use. Please don't do this again. Sarah, get a mop." They cleaned up in silence.

====================================

The potions class was mostly forgotten the next morning when Sarah came into the kitchen carrying a letter. "Amanda, you have a letter, a fancy letter. Open it!"

"Sarah, how could there be a letter? It's Sunday, there's no post today." 

"Here it is, Dad, look." Sarah handed Amanda the letter. Father looked over their shoulders. The large envelope was parchment, addressed in flowing script with green ink:

Amanda Fayer

The Top Bunk

9 Rosemont Road...

"Open it! Open it! Sarah almost snatched the letter from her older sister in her haste to get it open. The letter took twice as long to open with all the fumbling. Everyone was quiet until Amanda spoke: 

"Dad, this is strange. It says I'm admitted to Hogwarts. Who sent me this?" 

Her father, looking amused, said, "I see what it says, honey. Does this mean you can tidy up your room with your wand?" 

Amanda scowled: "Daddy, I'm serious! Who sent this?" 

"I don't know, sweetie," answered her father, "but they did a good job, didn't they? It's parchment, just like Hogwarts, and green ink, just like in the book. Who do _you_ think sent it? One of your friends, for a joke?" 

Amanda thought for a moment, then brightened. "It's my friend Fiona's birthday in two weeks! Maybe she's going to have a Harry Potter party, and she'll ring me later to tell me when it is!"

The mystery didn't get easier. Two days later Fiona's invitation did come: to a dress-up tea party in Victorian costumes. None of Amanda's friends had gotten a letter like hers, either. Amanda wasn't amused anymore; she was mad at who sent her a letter like this for a joke. After all, she had felt an excitement she couldn't totally control: what if she really got a Hogwarts letter? How could somebody tease her like this, even if it was silly to let herself be teased? It was mean. Never mind everybody knows they're just books, good stories, it was all make-believe - but what if it wasn't? What would it be like to shop for her books in Diagon Alley? What does butterbeer taste like? What House would she be in? Who..

ByFriday Amanda was driving everybody a little mad. Sarah was sick of Amanda's snappishness and started teasing her about Hogwarts changing its mind, and Amanda's father sat her down and listened but basically told her to get a grip on herself and stop fretting about something so trivial. Amanda argued with him: "But what if it was real, Daddy? Do you remember how I fell off the garage roof and didn't get hurt? You didn't know how I did it, and I didn't either, but what if it was magic? What about when I cried when my flowers died and the next day they were beautiful? Don't you think that's strange?"

Her dad looked worried. "Sweetheart, you're letting this carry you away. You shouldn't have gone up on the garage, and you were very lucky not to get hurt, but I hardly think it was magic. Your flowers weren't really dead, either. We watered them and they came back Amanda, please, you know Harry is just a story. We really like to visit Hogwarts in the books, but we can't live there. Maybe we should take a break from them for a while. We'll pick them up again later."

Amanda burst into tears. "Daddy, you're mean! Who sent me this letter?"

Daddy sighed. "I don't know, honey, but you've got to forget it. Now that's enough. It's over. We aren't going to talk about it anymore."

====================================

Saturday morning everything seemed better. The girls were laughing and joking with Daddy as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes and planned a nature walk for the next day.

For the first time all week, the letter wasn't mentioned. Good, he thought. We won't do anything Harry this weekend, then we can go back to reading the latest book next week. Stupid joke, though, especially after whoever sent it went to so much trouble. He shook water off his hands as he went to answer the phone.

"Hello."

"Good morning, is this David Fayer?"

"Yes, may I ask who's calling?" Sales calls on the weekend now? Ugh.

"My name is Fred Farmer. I'm calling to impose on you by asking if my wife and I could come visit you and your daughter. Am I right that you received an unusual letter a week ago?"

"Yes I did, and I don't mind telling you that it went past being funny. My daughter ended up upset about it, and I don't appreciate how it made her feel. You should know..."

"Mr. Fayer, I did not send it, but I want to talk to you about it. You need to hear what I have to say. I will leave when you ask me to. We are all respectable people, Mr. Fayer, and I ask you to hear me."

David didn't know what to do. Was this some sort of confidence game? How could it be a joke anymore? He sounds like a serious person, but isn't this what con men do, sound serious and respectable? " You can say it over the phone, and quickly."

"Mr. Fayer, I really can't. You will understand. My wife and I would like to see you at two this afternoon; we'll stand outside if you like."

"Oh, very well, I can't stop that. Don't expect to stay long. Good day." Why did I even agree to that? He said nothing to his daughters. They wondered why he looked so uneasy.

====================================

The time until two seemed never to pass. The girls couldn't understand why their dad wouldn't let them go a friend's house, couldn't understand why he checked on them every ten minutes, couldn't understand why he was so fretful. They also couldn't understand why he started glancing out the front window from 1:30 on. 

It was only a little after two when a new and spacious-looking car pulled up in front of the house. A middle-aged man in a very sober topcoat and Homburg hat stepped around and opened the door for a lady as respectable looking as a vicar's wife. What's this? The rear door opened and an attractive young woman stepped out also. Is this them, then? The three walked up the path. David stepped away from the window. I won't answer the door right away, he thought. I don't want them to think I'm anxious. The bell rang. One. Two. Three. Four. Five...

"Yes?"

"Mr. Fayer?"

"Yes?" 

"May we come in?"

They did look so respectable. "Yes, yes, please."

The man took off his Homburg as he stepped in. "I thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Fayer. I'm sorry for any unease your family has been through. But first, I must apologize for something else. You see, I've deceived you. My name is not Farmer. I find that we now have to do this for families to see us at all." He drew himself up. "My name is actually Fred Granger, and this is my wife Violet." He turned to the young woman. "And this is our daughter, Hermione."

In spite of himself, David felt a little wave of lightheadedness come over him. He stood, looking vacant; but then his face darkened. "This is quite, enough, I think. Perhaps you'd better go now." He reached for the door.

"Please, Mr. Thayer." It was the young woman who spoke. "I don't blame you, but you must wait. We're here to see you _and_ your daughter. Will you please call her?"

"I will not! I don't know what your game is, but..." he stopped, staring. The young woman had a dark rod in her hand, pointing it right at his throat. 

"Just say her name softly. _Sonorous._"

"Amanda? Sarah?" He jerked in surprise. His words, almost a whisper, seemed to fill every corner of the house without being too loud anywhere. What?

"Daddy?" Feet rushed down the stairs. "What did you do, Daddy? It was like you were right next to me, it was so weird..." They stopped, staring at the visitors.

"Hello," said the young woman with a smile. "Are you Amanda? And are you her sister?" They nodded. "My name is Hermione. Maybe you've heard of me."

Amanda's smile fell a little, and her eyes opened wide. "You're not _Hermione_, are you? You're kidding, aren't you?" Her little sister Sarah's approach was much more direct.

"If you're Hermione, then do some magic! Let's see your wand!"

Hermione held out the dark rod to Amanda first. "Here it is, would you like to hold it?" Amanda hesitated, then tentatively reached out for it. When she grasped it, the tip glowed for a second. Hermione's eyes went up a little.

"Very good! I can see why you got a letter!" "Would you like to take it a moment? She offered it to Sarah. The younger girl reached out for it like it was a candy cane. This time, a ripple of purple light raced down the length of the wand and flashed a corona around the tip. 

Sarah's eye went wide. "It feels all tingly!"

Hermione's eyes were wide too. "Oh, my! I've never seen..." She looked hard at the little girl. "Well. I think it's safe to say when you're eleven..."

"Wait a moment!" David interrupted. The words echoed around the house.

"Oh, sorry! Forgot! _Quietus_."

"I mean, wait a moment! What are you saying? That this letter is _**real**_? Hogwarts is real? Magic is real? How on Earth..."

"I think we'd better sit down." Mrs. Granger spoke for the first time. "This isn't easy to accept, Mr. Fayer, that's why we're here. You need help to accept this. Your world is a very different place than it was a moment ago. We know that. We went through it ourselves."

"I still don't believe it..."

"I know," Mrs. Granger said. "It's almost impossible to accept this quickly. It's too much. You're going to go through denying this is real; you will be angry your world has been turned upside down; you're going to grieve for your old reality. We can help you adjust to it. You must adjust to it."

"Why must I?" David's face was as angry as any frightened man's. "Even if this is true, which I doubt, my daughter doesn't have to go anywhere. She'd be happier without it. Amanda has friends, she's happy at school, she has her sister and me! You want to take her!? Like hell..."

"Mr. Fayer." Hermione spoke now. "We don't mean to bully you. It's just that your daughter is magical. Actually, they both are," she said, looking very seriously at the two girls, who were staring, speechless. "It just _is_. And it can't be ignored. A person who is magical _must_ be trained. Wild magic will destroy the person who holds it. It would be dangerous for everyone around her." She pulled out her wand again. "I think it's time now for you to hear something. It will explain a lot." She held out the wand and traced a rectangle over and over. "Mr. Fayer, perhaps you would like to face the wall behind you." The wand was leaving a golden trail of light behind it until there was a box of gold light. "_Proscenia._"

The box expanded, growing larger and larger as it approached David, sweeping through him and past him. It kept expanding until it touched the wall, filling it up. The wall seemed to disappear, leaving a mist of blues and grays and colours that seemed to wander and coalesce until they were looking at a magnificent castle with a large lake in front of it in a beautiful rolling emerald land. How could they have done this, David thought. How could this be a trick? The image blurred and cleared again. Now they were looking into a round room with stone walls. Shelves and bookcases stood against the walls; banners of red, green, blue, yellow, purple and tartan hung behind a large carved desk. A barred door, like a cage, stood set in the wall in one corner. A man not quite young came from behind the desk. Is he coming into my parlour? It's so real... the man sat down.

"Hello and good day to you. I would like to introduce myself. I am Professor Remus Lupin, and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

"If you are seeing me, it is because you have received a rather rude shock today. You have discovered that your child is magical. You are not magical yourself, and you did not even know that magic existed, notwithstanding recent literary events. His face bore a wry expression. 

"The magical world has been through a period of great turmoil. We suffered a war which only recently ended. The events of that war and the people who took part in it, especially the life of our greatest hero, have become known in the non-magical world. What you did not know before now was these 'stories' were in fact history. Our world was almost destroyed. We went through great hardship and suffered great loss. Now our world has been reborn."

"We still do not understand all of what happened. One of the things that has happened that we do not understand is that there are many more magical children. After seeing our numbers dwindle all through the years of war and struggle, we are seeing more magical children than ever before. I will speak more of this later."  
  


"As a parent of a magical child, you may feel stricken. How did this happen to my child? Is magic a blessing or a curse? Am I going to lose my child? "

"But magic is not a disease. It is a talent, a gift, and your child will become a witch or wizard with great power. It will change your child, there's no denying it. But it's unavoidable."

"You see, _magic must be trained._ I can't emphasize it enough. Magic is such a strong force that it will overcome and destroy any soul that can't control it. Those magical persons who are never trained often become insane from the forces within them they don't understand. Others become evil and lash out. Dark forces sometimes recruit these unfortunates and twist them to their ends as expendable pawns. It is a grim fate."

"So, I hope you see why it is essential your child join us at Hogwarts. Here he or she will be educated and given the skills your child needs to be a witch or wizard in control of her own life. Your child will be well looked after and find friends of her own kind. And your child will return to you for holidays and for the summer. You will visit Hogwarts and be welcome here as a parent of one of our students."

"You are being visited now by a Hogwarts family with non-magical parents. They have volunteered to help other parents like you adjust and to accept the reality of what has happened. They can tell you what it's like. They've been there. Talk to them."

"There have been changes at Hogwarts since the war. Because we have more students, and because of the great events of our recent past, there are now two new Houses, the first such changes in a thousand years."

"Dumbledore House has been established in memory of Professor Albus Dumbledore, late Headmaster of this school, and a great hero of the war. If your child is light of heart and clear of mind, you may belong here."

"McGonagall House is named for Professor Minerva McGonagall, another hero of our war and late assistant Headmistress. If your child takes responsibility seriously, and if he or she has a talent for Transfiguration, this house might become home."

"And for those of you who have been introduced to our world through what you thought was fiction, let me answer a few questions, though not too many. Harry Potter is alive and well, and when you come to Hogwarts, you will meet him, although he does not teach here. You will find many things and have many experiences that you did not read about in the books, simply because what you have read was a true story, not an encyclopedia." A smile crossed Lupin's face. "And you _will_ learn to ride a broomstick."

The scene began to fade, slowly. "Good-bye for now. You have much to think about. Remember the family who is visiting you will help you. They will tell you to call them any time. This is the beginning of a life more exciting than anything you ever imagined.. I welcome you to it." The image faded away; the golden box collapsed on itself and was gone.

David just sat there. The children recovered first. "Hermione?" said Amanda, slowly, hesitantly. "Am I going to have to go away?"

"You will go to Hogwarts, dear," Hermione answered. "I know you'll miss your daddy and your sister,but you'll see them on holidays, and you'll be able to send them letters by owl, and pictures of yourself that _move_, how about that?"

Amanda brightened. "Hermione," she hesitated. "Is Harry your boyfriend?"

That shook Amanda's father out of his abstraction. "Amanda! That's very rude! I'm sorry,..."

Hermione raised her hand. "It's all right, Mr. Fayer. Girls always want to know...." she gave Amanda a mysterious smile, "....but I'm not telling." The Grangers all rose to go. "I'll call in a week or so," said Hermione. "Amanda and I have a trip to Diagon Alley to make, don't we?"

Sarah, always the bold one, jumped in. "Hey! I want to go to Diagon Alley too!"

"Of course you'll go with us!" said Hermione. " And you're going for yourself one day. Just be patient."

"And I have one question!!" Sarah stood with her hands on her hips.

"Of course, Sarah. Go ahead." Hermione took Sarah's hand and looked into her eyes.

"Are Pokemon real too?"

Hermione couldn't help it. Her head went back as she laughed, a tear falling down one eye. "Good Heavens, I hope not! But Hagrid would love it, wouldn't he?"

End of Part One

Author's note: I set this story in Britain for obvious reasons: my characters couldn't have gotten a Hogwarts letter if they lived in the U.S. I hope the language doesn't sound too American, or worse, too artificially British. Hope you enjoy it.Many thanks to my beta-readers Penny, Ebony, and Cassandra.


	2. The Letter, Part Two

**The Letter**

**Part Two**

**By Dadgrid**

  
  
  


Disclaimer: Joanne Kathleen Rowling is the creator, owner, and ruling divinity of Harry's world. Everything here is hers. No one else has any claim to the characters in any of these stories, least of all this author.

  
  
  


This is a Post-Hogwarts fic. I got started on it while wondering what I would do if one of my daughters got a Hogwarts letter. Who'd believe it, especially after being introduced to Harry's world through "fiction?" We all talk about Harry as if he and his friend and his world were all real. Well, what if they are?

  
  
  


* * *

Professor Snape prowled back and forth among the tables, stopping occasionally to sneer at carelessly prepared ingredients or to drip sarcasm into a potion as if it was an ingredient some particularly stupid student needed. The Slytherins were spared some of it, but by no means all; there was House pride to look after, and a Slytherin with no talent for Potions couldn't hope for happiness in this dungeon. The pain Snape lived with every moment since the War hadn't improved his temper. It hadn't taught him compassion, either. He stopped short at one table. His head extended itself even further, the lip curling upwards even more.   


"What in the world is this supposed to be?" The hand, or what was left of it, crept out of the robe like a dementor's _delete space here_, reaching for the ladle. Amanda looked at him, apprehension all over her face. Sarah - what was she doing here? - scowled back at him, ready to do battle. "Where is the Potion you are supposed to be making? And what is this mess? Why, these are cooking spices! And dish soap!" The sneer was replaced by a snarl.

  
  
  


"You are not students! You do not belong here!" Spittle sprayed from the hole in the purple face. "You are nothing but insolent, brainless infants! How did your parents have the presumption to dispose of their refuse at this school? Why must I waste my effort attempting to instruct…"

  
  
  


"Please, Professor," Amanda choked out with all her courage. "My father…"

  
  
  


"Taught you nothing! NOTHING! Least of all discipline!" The man had lost all control. The whole room shrank back as Snape pulled out his wand, still raving. "I shall give you the lesson that coward would not! You will not cross me again! Crucio! Crucio!" Both girls fell off their stools to the floor, shrieking in agony as their nerves burned. Snape raised his wand again….

  
  
  


David sat on the edge of the bed until he could trust himself to stand up. Without his glasses he ran into the doorjamb on his way to the girls' room. He watched their chests rise and fall and looked in their faces, Sarah with her blanket and Amanda with Chitter in the crook of her arm. I haven't seen her do that in months, her father thought. He stroked their heads, even the stuffed monkey's. It had taken them a long time to go to sleep, but not as long as him. David went to the bathroom to wash his face.

  
  
  


How can I send my baby there by herself? She's a child! I had no idea how young eleven is. I can't help her there. What if Snape hates her? What if there's another Malfoy type to torment her? Is Snape even still there? Might as well turn her out by the side of the road! How do I get in touch with them to say she's not coming…

  
  
  
  


Wait, stupid. Remember what Lupin said? She has to go. She has to learn, or what's inside her will destroy her. You've got to let her go. And the school is full of kids just like her, and they all manage. You really are a coward, aren't you? And do you know what you're afraid of, jerk? You're afraid to be alone. You thought they'd both be here for years more, and you'd try to get them to stay home for college, and then what? Make them old maids at home with you? You're disgusting. A selfish pig.

  
  
  


But Amanda isn't just going away to school. She's going to another world, a new planet, and I'll never have her back the way she was. She'll be part of the wizard culture, with wizard friends and wizard teachers, and she'll shop in wizard stores. And Sarah's going to follow her three years later, and I've lost them both. They'll probably marry pureblood wizards who don't even understand a telephone, and certainly not their Muggle father-in-law. I'll be lucky to see them twice a year.

  
  
  


He was still sitting in the bathroom when the girls came to use it in the morning.

  
  
  
  
  


The call Hermione promised came Wednesday. Could Amanda come with her to Diagon Alley Saturday morning? No, she doesn't need money, and yes, Sarah is more than welcome; in fact, Hermione would like her to come. 

  
  
  


"Why doesn't she need money, Miss Granger? Isn't it true Amanda must buy her books in private stores?"

  
  
  


"Oh, yes," Hermione answered. "It's very much like the books you've read. What you didn't know is that non-magical students get some wizard money to start out with. It comes from the Ministry and private donors. We still need new blood, you see."

  
  
  


"But I thought Muggles - it is all right to use that word, isn't it? - were resented by some of the wizard world. Is that not true?"

  
  
  


"Of course you can use the word, Mr. Fayer. We just don't want you to think it's a slur. The wizard world saw where 'wizard pride' could lead to. It gave us the Death Eaters. Now we've learned our lesson. Don't be afraid for your girls."

  
  
  


Both girls were delighted at the news, and a little anxious too. "Are we going to fly there on a broomstick?" asked Sarah. "How do we stay on? I'm afraid I'll fall off!"

  
  
  


"I don't think you'll use a broomstick, Sarah," David answered. "As a matter of fact, Miss Granger asked me to have a little fire in the fireplace, so I'll bet you have another surprise coming."

  
  
  


"Floo Powder!" Amanda burst out. "We're going by Floo Powder! But I don't want to end up in the wrong place like Harry did! Will that happen, Daddy?"

  
  
  


"I'm sure it won't, sweetheart. Hermione is a very careful witch, and I can tell she's going to take very good care of you."

  
  
  


"What should we wear?" Trust Amanda to think of that, her father thought. If it _weren't_ for the magic, it would have been the first thing she asked.

  
  
  


"Whatever you'd go shopping in, honey. I asked. Hermione said most of the Muggle-borns don't change their dress that much."

  
  
  


The rest of the week was just waiting for Saturday, which finally came. Amanda was up an hour before either her father or her sister, washing and drying her hair. At least four complete outfits were laid out awaiting their mistresses' choice. She started shaking her father and hour and a half before his alarm was set.

  
  
  


"Liv me lone," came the grunt from under the edge of the blankets.

  
  
  


"Get up, Daddy! We have to get ready!"

  
  
  


"It's six-thirty! We don't have to get up 'till eight!"

  
  
  


"DADDY!" "GET UP!"

  
  
  


"Shake me one more time I will rip your arms off and beat you with them! Now gerroff!" When Sarah woke up she joined the battle. Nobody knew when there would be another one, but all that mattered now was holding Daddy's feet down for tickling.

  
  
  


It was after breakfast they heard a voice from the parlor. "Amanda? Mr. Fayer?" Startled, they all ran to the sitting-room and the little fire, which wasn't needed for the heat. Hermione Granger's face looked out. 

  
  
  


"I didn't want to startle you, sorry," she said. "Stand back a little, Sarah, thanks." There was a rush of flame and Hermione stepped into the room. She was indeed dressed for shopping in slacks and a light jumper, with her robe fluttering open slightly.

  
  
  


"Are you ready, girls?"

  
  
  


"Yes, Hermione".

  
  
  


"Will I get to see Diagon Alley someday?" David wanted to know.

  
  
  


"Of course you will. It's just the girls' first day in the magic world, so we'll have a lot to pay attention to, and then Amanda and Sarah will be your guides when you go. It's ladies' day out, isn't it?" Hermione smiled at the girls. She brought out a pouch. "I'll bet you know what this is."

  
  
  


"It's Floo Powder!" Sarah shot out. "Give me some, I know how to use it!"

  
  
  
  
  


"Just a moment, dear. You don't want to end up in that nasty Knockturn Alley like Harry did, do you?" Hermione took a picture out of her pocket. It showed an old-fashioned cobbled street with old-fashioned shops. Round pots of various sizes were in display in front of one; white wrought iron chairs and tables in front of another. People were walking - walking - back and forth. "When you throw the powder in the fire and say 'Diagon Alley,' look at this picture. You won't get lost that way." She handed the picture to Amanda. "And here's one for you, Sarah. Ready now?" Amanda stepped up to the fireplace first and took a pinch of the powder from Hermione's pouch. 

  
  
  


"Don't worry, Amanda, just keep your elbows tucked in," Hermione said. "And tell Mrs. Flitwick I'll pay her when I come through."

  
  
  


Mrs. Flitwick? Who? But Amanda had already said 'Diagon Alley' and, staring hard at the picture, the world swirled around her. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking right at a scene just like the picture she held. She felt a little lightheaded...

  
  
  


"Step out of the fireplace, dear. That'll be one Sickle," said a kindly old voice. Amanda was standing in a little alcove set in a wall. The only furniture was a large easy chair in which sat a tiny old woman with knitting work in her lap, and a padded bench next to it. The old lady smiled. "I haven't seen you before. Are your parents coming?"

  
  
  


Amanda found her voice. "Ah, I mean, Hermione..."

  
  
  


"Are you with Hermione Granger? Oh, that's lovely. Are you a new student, then?" She was interrupted by Sarah's appearance. "Oh, dear, another one! Step out of the fireplace so the next person can come through. Are you with Hermione too?"

  
  
  


Sarah was bouncing up and down. "I want to do that again! That was cool! Can I go back and do it again?" Hermione appeared before Mrs. Flitwick could answer.

  
  
  


"Oh, my dear, it's good to see you!" Hermione kissed the old lady on the cheek.

  
  
  


"And how is Professor Flitwick? I haven't seen him in months." Hermione asked. She reached into her pouch and pulled out three odd coins.

  
  
  


"I can't take money from you, dear," said Mrs. Flitwick. "Miss Granger is a hero to us, girls," she said. "_My_ son always said she was the best student he ever taught, and without her Harry Potter wouldn't have been able to do what he did..."

  
  
  


"Now Mrs. Flitwick," Hermione said a little sternly, "We've talked about this before. I don't want to be different from everybody else. It makes me feel like I'm on display. I insist._delete one period here_" she held out the coins.

  
  
  


"But I don't need the money, dear, you know that. I run a public fireplace because I get to hear all the news and see all my old friends. You know my son wants me to sell it and live with him, but what would I do? But your friends are free today. First time's on the house." She took one coin. "You just remember Mrs. Flitwick's Fireplace when you come to Diagon Alley." She winked at the girls as they waved shyly and followed Hermione out into the glories of Diagon Alley.

  
  
  


* * *

Whatever the girls imagined, whatever they read, it didn't come up to the reality. The little shops were there, all right, and with the cobblestone street it made the whole scene look like it had been created by Charles Dickens. But Dickens never imagined signs where cauldrons bubbled over a roaring fire, or what looked like little pink and green hummingbirds hovering in front of one shop offering samples of wizard perfume from their beaks. 'Why Play Fair? - Spellbinder.'   


And the people! Some of the shoppers looked like the girls and Hermione, dressed in clothes that wouldn't have been much out of place in Charing Cross Road; but others wore long robes without Muggle clothing underneath, while some dressed in doublets and hose or purple tailcoats and green top hats. It was a costume party gone mad. It wasn't just the costumes, either. They saw a witch in a tall pointed hat whose green skin, hatchet nose and sharp jaw would have made the Wicked Witch of the West seem angelic in comparison. Hermione confirmed that the figure in the head-to-toe black robes, mask, and dark glasses was a vampire making a rare daytime visit. The girls didn't know where to look next, so Hermione had to touch their shoulders to get them to stop.

  
  
  


"This is our first stop, girls," she told them "Gringott's."

  
  
  


The massive white building did indeed tower over the shops around it. The short gray-green figure in its scarlet and gold uniform bowed them in. It really was one of the biggest rooms the girls had ever seen, and the counter was endless, but they headed off to what seemed an acre of desks on the right. Hermione seemed to know just which one to go to. The goblin - squinty-eyed despite the green eyeshade - must have been smiling, although it looked more like an injury than an expression of pleasure.

  
  
  


"An honor to see you, Miss Granger." He seemed to bend in two places as he bowed. "How can Gringott's serve you? Have you new students for us?"

  
  
  


"I do, Mr. Gorblog, but just one today." She put her hand on Amanda's shoulder. "This is Amanda Fayer, and she is here for the Dumbledore Scholarship stipend."

  
  
  


"Ah, yes. A great thing. And have you read our history, girl?" The goblin looked at her hard. Amanda couldn't have lied if she wanted to.

  
  
  


"History? Ah, no, what do you mean?" Amanda looked up at Hermione, confused, but wasn't Hermione who spoke first.

  
  
  


"He means the Harry Potter books, silly!" Sarah stepped right in front of Gorblog. "We all know about your bank, mister. We need some wizard money."

  
  
  
  
  


"This is the place," Gorblog said. He seemed to like Sarah's direct approach. "Well, stand in front of me, girl, I haven't got all day." He gestured Amanda over to him impatiently. "I need a hair from you head..." without so much as a by-your-leave he plucked one of Amanda's long light hairs out and put it in a small envelope.

  
  
  


"OW!" Why did you do that?" Amanda rubbed the spot.

  
  
  


"Identification. We require positive identification on all new accounts," the goblin said shortly. "Please write your name on the envelope, put this on your lips, and kiss the envelope inside the circle." After putting on the sickly green lipstick, which thankfully didn't taste the way it looked, she did as instructed. The goblin examined the envelope. "Satisfactory. I will get a vault assigned and fit you for your key. You must wait."

  
  
  


He came back a few minutes later with a small pouch. "Here is your first payment and you key. Hold out your hand." He placed a tiny golden key in Amanda's palm and touched it with a wand that looked like a stick torn off a tree. The key glowed and smoke rose from her palm; Amanda called out in fright, but couldn't move her hand. Wait, she thought. It doesn't hurt anyway. The brand on her hand looked like it wouldn't ever go away, but in thirty seconds it was gone.

  
  
  


"Do not lose your key," the goblin warned. "If you lose it, we must take your hand for a day to make a new one."

  
  
  


"Don't worry about your key," Hermione assured Amanda, seeing the expression on her face. "I had to give up my hand for a day once when I lost my key during the War. It's just a nuisance, it doesn't hurt. I'll put a Binding Spell on the key so you'll know the second you misplace it. That way you'll know to start looking for it."

  
  
  


As the three walked down the steps, blinking in the sunlight after the dim light of the bank, they heard a voice calling: "Hermione! Oh Hermione!" Hermione looked around. Her face lit up.

  
  
  


"Miri! I'm so glad to see you!" Hermione hugged the young woman who ran up to them. Miri was a young woman with long hair, rich coffee skin, and a big smile. Her robes seemed more formal than some others the girls had seen so far, but for bands of bright colors in geometric designs where the robe closed in front._delete one period here_ They matched the hat she was wearing. She turned the smile on the girls.

  
  
  


"And who are your friends, Hermione? It's a pleasure to meet you both." Her accent is so nice, Amanda thought. She sounds like she comes from Africa.

  
  
  


Hermione introduced them. "And this will be one of your new teachers, girls. This is Professor Miri Bubinga, who is Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

  
  
  


"Are you both starting this year, girls?" Professor Bubinga asked.

  
  
  


"No, just my big sister." Sarah looked glum. "I'm too young."

  
  
  


"But you will, Sarah, there's no question you're magical." Hermione spoke quietly to Miri now. "Actually, I should speak to Professor Lupin. When I let her hold my wand I saw the Cherenkov Effect. I've never seen it in one so young."

  
  
  


Miri looked hard at Sarah. "Are you sure, Hermione?"

  
  
  


"No question, Miri," Hermione answered. She whispered now. "And it was purple."

  
  
  


"We both have to see Professor Lupin, then." Miri looked very thoughtful. "She may be a Prodigy. Is she mature enough to come this year?"

  
  
  


"Well, she's very bright, no question," Hermione said. "But she's an active one, she is. I'd put a Galleon or two on her going to Dumbledore House. Fred and George Weasley would have serious competition from her, no mistake."

  
  
  


Miri chuckled. "Angelina says that's impossible, but she hasn't met this one yet." Hermione's wand, held at her side, flicked out almost imperceptibly. The girls, who had seemed lost in thought, looked up at Miri and Hermione.

  
  
  


"I know it's hard to wait, Sarah, but you turn will come. You have plenty of talent, I'm sure, and I'll still be teaching when you arrive." Miri's face lit up with an idea. "It's late morning and it's warm, how about an ice cream?"

  
  
  


"YEAH!" It wasn't far to Fortescue's; it was the shop with white wrought iron furniture the girls had seen in the photo and when they'd materialized in the Alley. They hadn't even sat before Mr. Fortescue himself bustled out, all smiles.

  
  
  


"Miss Hermione! What a pleasure! And Professor Bubinga! Please, take this table, it's in the sun. You are all my guests, of course, you honor my shop..."

  
  
  


Hermione's shoulders sagged. She was getting more sensitive about this kind of thing. "Mr. Fortescue, please. I don't want to be an exhibit in a zoo, and I'm sorry, but I'm not a raree show either. We have to pay our own way."

  
  
  


"Of course, Miss, and I'd never take advantage of your custom to increase my business," said the old man. His normally jolly face was quite serious. "but you know how everybody in the wizard world feels about you and Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. None of us would be here without you. Sit here, and I'll be sure you have your privacy." He handed them menus and bustled back in.

  
  
  


The girls looked at the glorious choices. Their eyes got wider and wider as they looked at chocolate castles with flags waving and little figures skiing down mountains of whipped cream; snow fields of pale green mint where pink polar bears roamed; and pale pineapple sherbets where tiny figures danced a hula. Following instructions, the girls put their noses next to the pictures and sniffed each delicious choice. How could you choose? Finally Sarah spoke up.

  
  
  


"I heard of this, but I thought it was a candy! Can I have a Fizzing Whizzbee sherbet?"

  
  
  


"It is a candy, Sarah," Miri answered, "but they have a sherbet too. I think you'll get a surprise from this one. And how about you, Amanda?"

  
  
  


Amanda's face was scrunched up with the effort of deciding. "OK. I would like to have the Golden Snitch Crunch."

  
  
  


Hermione laughed. "That's Harry's favorite, and I think you'll see why." She gave the orders. Mr. Fortescue bustled out again.

  
  
  


"Which one ordered the Fizzing Whizbee sherbet?" Sarah raised her hand, and Mr. Fortescue looked. "Oh, we'll have to get you another chair. Half a moment." As the dishes came out a waiter carried over a chair.

  
  
  


"Will you please switch chairs, Miss?" He set down the new chair. "Please be sure you buckle the lap belt. Do you have it already? Good." The man picked up what looked like a heavy weight and hung it off the bottom of the chair with a hook. "All set, then." There was no such formality with Amanda's dish. It was an oval dish, painted gold on the outside with a banner that said "Quidditch World Cup." The ice cream looked like french vanilla studded with little golden toffee coated nuts. It was delicious.

  
  
  


"YUM! This is good!" Sarah called. She took another bite. "Whooooaaaa, what's happening?" She grabbed the edge of the table. Her chair was already six inches off the floor.

  
  
  


Hermione jumped up and held the chair down. "Mr. Fortescue! We need another weight!!" After another weight was installed - two weights, actually, just to be sure - Hermione smiled. "The colder the sherbet the higher you go. I saw someone end up twenty feet up once because his weight came loose and nobody realized it. Somebody on a broomstick had to go get him. And how's yours, Amanda?"

  
  
  


Amanda was in heaven. "It's delicious, Hermione, I'm going to try one of the nuts..." but it was easier said than done. As soon as she scooped the first one up, it sprang out of the ice cream and zoomed around Amanda's head. The next one did the same. She was ready for the next one, but it didn't help. It dodged her. Now she had three little golden orbs zooming in circles in front of her eyes.

  
  
  


Hermione laughed. "I was always hopeless with this stuff. Harry never had to pay for one when he was with his friends because he's always the first to get them all. Now nobody will bet him. But if you want those toffee nuts, dear, you've got to catch them." 

  
  
  
  
  


Amanda tried to reach out with her fingers at the speeding little objects. Finally she changed her tactics and clapped her hands around one.

  
  
  


"YAAAAAYY!" Where did that come from? She managed to catch another one. "YAAAAAYY!" again. It wasn't loud, but it sounded like a crowd. Amanda looked totally mystified. 

  
  
  


"Look at your dish, Amanda," Miri prompted. When she looked, it seemed like the edge of the dish was waving and rippling. It was her dish cheering her on! She caught almost all the tiny Snitches before she finished her ice cream, but more released as she ate. As she finished the last bite, the two Snitches she hadn't caught zoomed down into the dish and landed. She heard the soft but rude raspberry.

  
  
  


"Oh, hush," she said, popping them into here mouth. "I have the last laugh."

  
  
  


* * *

Miri went off to do her shopping while Hermione and the girls did theirs. They agreed to meet at Ollivander's; Miri wanted to see what wand would choose Amanda. She and Hermione both wanted to see what Sarah would get, but because of her age they couldn't until they got permission. It seemed like a long day before they were all in the dusty little shop. Mr. Ollivander was the same as ever. It took about a dozen tries before Amanda had her wand, curly maple with a hair from a sphinx's tail.   


"An unusual combination, but a good one," Mr.Ollivander said. "Quite subtle. It will be of great aid to you in unraveling what is dark to others." He turned to Miri. "Professor, I have not had the opportunity, but would you do me the honor of allowing me to examine your wand? I don't see many that I did not make."

  
  
  


Miri handed it over. "It was made in a Menge secret society," she said. "Mine, in fact. I cannot tell you much about the society, not even its name, but I can tell you that we played out part in the War." Her eyes were full of pride.

  
  
  


"And well we know it," Mr. Ollivander said warmly. "It is unfortunate the full story can't be known."

  
  
  


"I'd like it the way it is," Miri said, smiling. "I've seen what Hermione goes through. I can't imagine what it will be like for Harry when he returns."

  
  
  


Mr. Ollivander's face clouded a little. "How is Mr. Potter? The whole wizard world is worried for him. If the Muggle world knew how close it was..."

  
  
  


"We can't say." Hermione's voice was firm. "Harry suffered a lot. He's lucky to be alive, and he needs to be alone, or rather with a few that can help him back. We're not going to hurry him, and his friends will protect him." Her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ollivander, I know you're only concerned for him, but his friends just don't talk about what we know. We're determined to give him his peace."

  
  
  


"I'm sure I beg pardon, Miss Granger." He took Miri's wand. "Hmmm. This is a really unusual wand. Ebony," he said, running his finger down the mirror-like surface, so black it seemed to absorb all light, "one of the wisest and most beautiful woods. He closed his eyes. "And chimaera hair, from the mane." "Unique. I cannot imagine a better wand for Defense Against the Dark Arts. This isn't just a dueling wand, oh no," he said absently. It was a neat question if he even remembered there were other people there. "This is the wand of a warrior for good. I've never seen its like." He handed the wand back. "Ah, for the chance to work with these materials..."

  
  
  


The four walked down the street until they were in front of Mrs. Flitwick's. Miri bid them good-bye: "I'm going back to Hogwarts, so I have to Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk up. Should I mention our, um, conversation to Professor Lupin?"

  
  
  


"Let's both see him, Miri. I can come Monday. I'm taking the girls home and then I'm going, you know, out." Miri nodded her understanding. She said good-bye to the girls, who, very taken with her, hugged her too. They stepped into Mrs. Flitwick's little parlor.

  
  
  


Amanda looked back at the Alley. I felt like I'd always belonged here, she thought. I really feel right here with these wizards, like they understand me, like they know who I am. Because I'm one of them, aren't I? I'm going back to my daddy, and I love him, but why do I feel like I'm going to be visiting there? She turned away and followed Hermione into the fire.

  
  
  


End of Part Two

  
  
  


Author's comment: I'm grateful for all the kind words I've gotten for the fics I've written so far, and especially to Jeralyn the Voicelady, Penny, our listmom, and especially to Ebony aka AngieJ, one of the positive forces of the Universe. You should have been teaching me when I was a fifth-grader.


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